One of the new rooms was Uncle Gaspard’s, the other Renée’s, while her old one was transferred to Mère Lunde, who at first thought she could never sleep on a bedstead. And Renée’s room was quite a marvel of prettiness. Great strips of white birch bark on which dainty pictures were worked went from floor to ceiling, while between was soft gray plaster. Sometimes this was stained in various colors. Then there were shelves about on which were displayed odd bits of Indian work—a bowl, a vase, or a pretty basket. Many of these came from Mattawissa’s hands and not a few from Wawataysee’s. Now Madame Marchand had a dainty little girl, christened Renée. Her gracious air, her refinement and beauty, and her romantic story as well, had made her many friends, and M. Marchand was one of the thriving business men, very much honored and respected. Not infrequently he and Gaspard were called into council on some important question. And though the palisades and gates and towers were still looked upon as a means of defence, the inhabitants ventured to enlarge their borders without. Several bands of friendly Indians had settled toward the northern and western ends. Parties no longer hesitated to wander through the woods, and the children often went out to pick wild strawberries that grew so plentifully all about. Then there were grapes and a delicious kind of wild plum, pears and apples, and melons cultivated in the gardens, with various small fruits. Renée de Longueville had come in possession of quite a fortune; at least, Uncle Gaspard held it in trust for her. And it made her quite a person of consequence. Antoine Freneau had grown really afraid to carry on his illicit trade after the capture of the Red Rover. She had stores for him, and for weeks he trembled when he saw two or three men approaching his cabin. He was old and he resolved he would do no more at it. This he tried to explain to those who came for a supply. True, he brought up his whiskey and sold it as long as it lasted, but unfortunately the Indians used to securing their indulgence in that manner would not believe it. They brought furs, often stolen from the traders, and insisted that he should exchange. They always came after nightfall, and sped away again in the dark. Angry at length at their repeated efforts, he would not open his door. The bar within was very strong and he felt himself secure. But the old stanchion had decayed at the ground point, and one night it gave way at their united efforts. Antoine found himself defenceless against the angry mob. They bound him and began to ransack the place. Bringing to light one jug of whiskey, they were confident there was more. They searched every corner, every nook, but in vain. And then they fell upon the old man, beat him and tortured him until he was limp and lifeless they thought, when, taking a pack of the most valuable furs, they decamped.